Milk Run
by Gladrial10
Summary: The Joker goes on a milk run. ...Pretty much what it sounds like. JokerxHarley


He surveyed the faces around him in the dim light, trying to read them for any tells as they all took inventory of the cards fanned out in front of them. It was the same circle of lunatics he was accustomed to at these rare poker games that Cobblepot occasionally arranged, with the exception that Crane was among them this time. He usually chose not to participate.

The Joker brought his cigarette to his lips again and inhaled, considering Scarecrow closer. He supposed he thought himself separate from the rest of them, above such things. He wasn't a gangster; he was a scientist. As though the people of Gotham saw him differently than any of them. What a joke. He wondered if Crane realized as much.

A titter escaped his lips and everyone glanced his way in response, clearly already on the defense. A man couldn't even enjoy a good laugh these days without everyone wondering who was going to end up with a knife in their back next.

Good.

"Problem?" Cobblepot asked him carefully.

"Just thought of something funny," he shrugged nonchalantly, but put on a slight menace to his grin that he had long ago perfected, just to keep everyone on edge.

"I'm sure," Oswald commented dryly and they all returned to their cards.

Still, if Crane was here, he must be after something in particular. He wondered if he should be concerned about that or be trying to figure out a way it could be used to his advantage. But the way that Scarecrow kept regarding Eddie made Joker fairly certain he was after something the Riddler had, whatever that might be, and decided not to concern himself with it.

It was less of a game, after all, and more of a means of bartering for territory. _Which come to think of it, is as much of a game as anything else_ , he thought. And as with anything, the higher the stakes, the more he enjoyed playing.

The 'niceties' of it all grated on him though. He knew this for what it was: an attempt to negotiate while avoiding any of the bloodshed. What happened to a good, old-fashioned turf war? Still, he had just won a large chunk of the protection racket on the west side from Harvey, so he continued to play along.

His phone rang, interrupting him from these musings. He fished it out of his pocket and answered it without looking up from his cards.

"And how's my girl?" he asked. "Milk? Sure. Anything else?" He tapped twice on the table with his knuckle. "Maybe another hour. Hold on. _What?_ " he demanded of Harvey, looking annoyed at the interruption.

"We're playing here," Two-Face said. "You throwing in or not?"

Joker glanced at his cards once more.

"Drug trade off Miller Harbor," he offered and returned to his call. "Yeah, he's here," Joker confirmed over the phone, looking at Nygma. "Uh-huh. Yeah, it's doing that thing it does." He made a sweeping motion with his hand over his head. _She thinks your hair is stupid_ , he mouthed to him silently.

Riddler scowled at him in return, but chose to direct his attention back to the game.

"Harley says hi," he offered to the group chipperly as he hung up, before he noticed their smirking faces staring back at him. "What?" he demanded.

"Milk?" Harvey finally commented.

"You got a problem with that?" he asked, lowering his cards.

"No. It's just...you're getting milk?" Two-face added vaguely.

"What do you use on your cereal?" Joker snarked.

"It's not that," Riddler jumped in, trying to explain. "But why isn't _she_ , y'know, getting the milk?"

Joker surveyed Nygma up and down briefly and replied, "...I can really see why you're still single Eddie." He was rewarded with a circle of snickers at that. "Besides I'd pay more attention to the game at hand rather than my day-to-day activities if I were you," he added smugly, grandly throwing his cards on the table to a chorus of groans.

It was his turn to deal out the cards. He shuffled them effortlessly and swiftly dealt them out across the table, while he took inventory of the room around him. They all had a couple of enforcers handy just in case things got hairy. Everyone except him. It's not that he was against that sort of thing, but he liked to keep everyone on their toes, never liked to be too predictable. His current abode wasn't located too far from here anyway.

"Hey!" he shouted to a couple of henchmen at the bar who he assumed were Penguin's boys, both of whom looked apprehensive at being called out. "Bring me a screwdriver! Extra screwy!"

"Don't order my men around, clown," Oswald demanded. "Why didn't you bring any protection of your own anyway?"

"Who says I didn't?" he answered, revealing his gun from underneath his jacket and laying it on the table next to him.

"Cute," Crane muttered, momentarily breaking his self-imposed silence.

"And maybe I'm in the market," Joker suggested, loudly so they could hear him at the bar, enjoying their discomfort. "What do you say about putting them up on this hand?" He laughed as both of the men looked petrified at the very idea.

"Speaking of, who's putting up first?" Harvey impatiently interrupted.

"Hold on a second. I want to get back on this," Riddler redirected. "How exactly do you go about...getting milk?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" Joker sneered, confused at the topic being returned to. He was beginning to second guess whether he should have taken the phone call in front of everyone. True, he kept things close to the vest. They all did. But this felt asinine.

"I mean...do you just walk in...and take it?" Eddie continued. "It's not like you can blend in."

Joker exhaled, smoke seeping out of of his mouth as he glared at Nygma.

"Would you stop me from taking something I wanted?" he warned, all levity gone from his voice, tapping his cigarette on the ashtray next to him.

"Point taken," Eddie conceded with a nod of the head.

Joker only played a couple more hands. It made sense to leave while at the top of his game and he was decidedly no longer in the mood.

"Always a pleasure gents," he generously offered, as he slid on the purple trench coat draped over the back of his chair. "Let me know the next time I can make what's yours mine."

"Don't forget the milk," Two-Face snidely commented with smirk and was met with another round of chuckles from the group.

"I won't forget to inform everyone you're shaking down on your side of town that they're paying me now," Joker threw back jovially and enjoyed watching Harvey's smirk devolve into a sneer.

* * *

He shouldn't be in such a sour mood, he reflected as he made the drive home, the streets nearly empty on this side of town with the late hour. After all, he'd just increased his hold on the city. But at the end of the day, they seemed more interested in a grocery run than the fact he was pushing his way into their territory.

He pulled to the side of the road in front of a twenty-four hour convenience store and stepped inside without taking any notice of who was behind the counter, something he usually did because he loved seeing the look on their face as they wondered if today would be their last day for this earth. But he was too lost in thought and instead headed mechanically for the wall of refrigerators. Without thinking he also grabbed a couple of snack cakes and decided to pick up a pack of smokes on his way out as well.

He reached behind the counter for them and there was the cashier cowered on the floor in a tight corner.

"Oh don't mind me," he commented lightly, as he snatched up his favorite brand. "How much?" he asked politely, innocent smile in place.

The cashier made a sort of wheezing sound and seemed to be trying to merge with the wall behind them.

"On the house you say?" he gasped in mock disbelief. "You're far too kind. Why, with this kind of service I'll have to make this a regular stop then, won't I?"

He swept up his items and returned to the car. The encounter did little to improve his mood though and his thoughts quickly returned to the night's events.

It occurred to him that he could have done more against their quips, normally would have. But to be honest, it all confused him, and he was more fixated on figuring out why any of them would care about something so mundane than to how he would usually react.

 _I don't get the joke_ , he realized as he parked, a notion that bothered him more than anything.

He headed into an alleyway that was the entrance to their current hideout, a crumbling, five-story brick structure that had originally been used as apartment housing long ago when the city was much younger. Northeast Gotham was in much need of updating and mostly abandoned with only the most desperate trying to scratch out a living here.

"Harley!" he called, as he unceremoniously placed the jug of milk into the fridge.

"In bed!" she called back.

He walked into the room they had designated as the bedroom and saw her reclining in the dark, only illuminated by the shifting light of the television screen. The large t-shirt she was wearing rode up her bare thighs as she moved to a kneeling position on the bed, turning her attention towards him.

"I got you this while I was at the store." He tossed a snack cake toward her.

"My favorite," she squeaked. "How was work?" she teased lightly, as she tore into the wrapper with her red nails.

"We own most of the west side now," he replied glumly, removing his shoes and then flopping onto the bed next to her.

"Ooh!" she cooed approvingly, before adopting a thoughtful look. "That's going to spread our forces kinda thin though. We'll need to do some recruiting. I suppose we could try to convert some of Harvey's people already working the racket, would make things easier. Unless they cause problems because they don't like the change in management, of course."

"We'll figure it out," he commented dismissively.

"What's wrong, Puddin'?" she pressed sweetly, setting her snack aside.

"I'm not sure. That's the problem," he answered unhelpfully.

"Well, let's start by getting out of this," she suggested, pulling at his coat, "And get you comfortable."

"Getting undressed is your answer for everything," he chided. She giggled in response, which elicited a brief smile from him, but his heart wasn't really in it.

"Seriously Puddin', you just grew your territory," she needled cautiously. "What could be bothering you?"

"It's stupid. Insanely so, to the point that I don't even…" he drifted off. "It's because you asked me to pick up milk...I think?"

"...If it was a problem, I could have done it," she offered, slightly confused.

"I was already out," he shrugged.

"I know. That's the reason I asked," she agreed. "...I don't get it."

"That makes two of us," he concurred. "They seemed to think it was funny. That I was getting milk. ...For some reason."

"OH!" Harley laughed. "Okay, I get it now."

"So you get the joke!" he demanded, his voice beginning to rise. "How dare you! After I bring you home a treat no less!"

"It's not a joke, Puddin'. It's just a 'common folk' thing," she offered soothingly, complete with finger quotes.

"Oh," he uttered with skeptical acceptance. "Explain."

"I don't think you quite understand how fascinating you are to the public," she suggested.

"Of course I am!" he countered, sounding somewhat offended. "Honestly Harley, you're supposed to be helping here."

"Let me try again," Harley began. "I don't think you always understand _in what way_ you fascinate the public. I've ended up in a lot of similar conversations with random people over the years, whether they be a reporter, someone in a neighboring cell, or even a cop pushing papers after I've been brought in. They ask me about you specifically. Do you know what kind of questions I get most of the time?"

"What's the most heinous thing you've seen me do?" his suggested, eyes gleaming and smile growing across his face. "Or maybe how many people you've seen me maim in one evening. Or -" Harley held up her hand to pause him.

"Or 'what's his favorite sandwich?'"

He gaped at her in disbelief.

"What's his current favorite tv show? What's his morning routine? Fucking boxers or briefs!" she recounted, ticking them off on her fingers. "I've heard them all."

"No," he breathed in disgust. "Why?! Why would they do that when I've given them so many more entertaining things to discuss? Am I not trying fucking hard enough?" he demanded, slamming his fists on the mattress. "Because I feel like I'm trying pretty damn hard!"

"It's not that Puddin'," Harley soothed. "All the murder and mayhem, they love it! You know they do. It's - Wait, I'll show you." She leaned over the bedside and grabbed a magazine full of the latest celebrity gossip.

"It's like this," she explained, turning to a page with a heading emblazoned on top that read ' _Stars: They're Just Like Us_ '.

"See?" she pointed out. "People idolize these celebrities and find it hard to believe they'd do anything so mundane as shop for groceries or gas up their car, so when they see it, they're all the more fascinated. The same goes for you, but multiplied by a thousand."

Joker regarded the page thoughtfully. "And the public...likes this trite garbage?"

"They eat this shit up," she confirmed. "But they _wouldn't_ , if it didn't come with all the chaos and carnage associated with you."

He paused thoughtfully again before concluding, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"I know. It really is, but here I am reading it," she conceded, tossing the magazine back to the floor.

"I'm not like them. Not in any way, shape, or form. Next time someone asks you an asinine question about me, you make sure they know that," he ordered.

"Whatever you say, Puddin'," she agreed, giving him a peck on the cheek as he distractedly reached for the remote control, unmuting the television.

" _-avoid until further notice_ ," a reporter's voice warned over an aerial video of a street full of panicked people. " _Some reports indicate the Riddler may also be involved in Scarecrow's latest attack on the city, but have thus far have been unverified._ "

"Called it!" Joker announced triumphantly.

"How's that?" Harley asked.

"Crane and Eddie were eyeballing each other earlier tonight," he explained.

"That's not too far from here. We could get a closer look if you wanted," she suggested, glancing at the ceiling.

* * *

Moments later they were both sitting on the rooftop of their dilapidated building, legs dangling over the side with two spoons in one carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream between them. Joker's trench coat was draped around Harley against the slight chill in the night air. In the distance, they could hear the collected screams of who knew how many people and the wail of police sirens speeding toward the commotion. Search lights lit up an area about ten blocks away and helicopters hovered overhead.

"It's a nice night," Harley sighed, blissfully.

"Wonder what he's up to," Joker commented absently. "Crane doesn't usually work up this much fuss without a reason."

"I don't know why Eddie's involved. Maybe he owed Crane a favor. But I do have a theory about Scarecrow," Harley offered.

"Oh yeah," Joker challenged.

"Yeah," she confirmed smugly. "Lately there's been some talk in the papers of some of his victims, y'know, a few people here, a couple of people there."

"That's usually his M.O.," Joker agreed.

"But here's the thing," Harley continued, swallowing another spoonful of ice cream. "These victims all claimed to have hallucinated the same thing."

"No kidding," Joker mused. "Did he purposefully go after people with the same phobia?"

"I don't think so," Harley answered. "People have specific fears, sure, but humanity has fears we all innately share. For example, the fear of snakes is very common, even if it isn't something you necessarily fear _the most_."

"What's your point?" he asked.

"My point is, striking fear based on someone's specific phobia is very powerful, but it's random and uncontrollable. However striking the _same_ fear in a group of people simultaneously, well, that has a power all its own," she explained. "Imagine everyone around you confirming your hallucinations. That, and you could theoretically guide that group fear to...well, I'm not sure what, but it's interesting. Anyway, I think he's perfected the method and is trying it out on a grander scale."

Joker gave her a knowing look, a small explosion in the distance interrupting the silence between them.

"What?" she tittered under his gaze.

"You've been reading more of your psychology nonsense again, haven't you?" he said accusingly, pointing a finger at her.

"Listen, if you didn't want to date a psychiatrist, you shouldn't have been so forward," she suggested haughtily.

"I spend half my time in Arkham. Who else was I supposed to meet?" he teased back.

Suddenly a great light spread out into the sky and their eyes followed its trail to the batsignal glowing above them.

"About time!" Joker smiled. "Now the real show can begin." He looked toward the center of chaos forlornly. "I do wish I could play too though."

"We can head over if you really want to," Harley suggested, straightening her posture, looking ready for anything. He regarded her enthusiasm fondly for a moment.

"Let Crane and Eddie have their fun," he decided. "Besides, I have the west side to play with tomorrow!"


End file.
